Borderline
by Leda74
Summary: A bump in time strands the TARDIS in the middle of a war, but that's not the only threat. Something is working behind the scenes, determined to use the Doctor's companions - both past and present - to change the course of history for its own ends.
1. Chapter 1

Of all the ways to be woken up, Amy thought, this had to be one of the worst.

She rolled out of bed as the TARDIS dropped like an elevator with its cables cut and then rose again just as she hit the floor, causing her to lose what little remained of her dignity and plant her on her backside with her hair hanging in her eyes. She blew a strand off her lip, swore clearly and precisely and then staggered to her feet in search of Rory, following the distinct yelp she'd heard from the bathroom.

She found him on his back in the bathtub with his legs waving desperately, and quickly surmised from the foam in his hair – and on the mirror, the shower curtain and the ceiling - that he'd been shaving when the turbulence hit.

"Are you okay?" she asked, as she grabbed Rory's arm and hauled him upright, where he blinked and struggled out of the tub without answering her. Only when he'd managed to stand upright and reassure himself he was going to stay that way did he stare at her, his lower lip flapping for a second.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know, do I? Let's go and find out what he's playing at. Come on," she said, decisively, and then, grabbing him by the elbow, ushered him out of the door.

It wasn't until they reached the console room that it occurred to Amy that she was still in her pyjamas, but the Doctor merely looked up, gave her a bright little grin without removing his hands from the controls and then looked down again with a furrow in his brow. The TARDIS was still weaving and rolling like a ketch on the high seas, but the motion was manageable and she staggered along the ramp to the console, tugging Rory behind her.

"Come on, old girl, straighten up. You've had worse," muttered the Doctor, flipping a lever back with no apparent effect, then tutting gently and trying another. This seemed to work, and after one last lurch, the TARDIS settled down and picked up its usual contented humming instead.

"What was that all about?" Amy demanded, her hands on her hips, but her ire didn't make a dent in the Doctor's remaining preoccupation, and he ignored her question for a moment as he pulled out a magnifying glass and studied a screen at close quarters. Finally he sighed, straightened up and smiled at her.

"Don't really know," he said, pocketing the magnifying glass once more and straightening the line of his jacket. "Haven't hit a pocket of turbulence like that since the last time I was in E-Space. Are you all right?"

Amy started to answer, but the Doctor wasn't looking at her; he was patting the console solicitously, and she shut her mouth again, moderately offended.

"Well, we've landed, anyway," said Rory, checking his balance once more and then feeling for the slight lump on the back of his head from his mishap in the bathroom. "Shall we see what's out there?"

"No-oooo," said the Doctor, slowly and thoughtfully, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels for a second. "First things first, before we do anything I think you two should get dressed. You're not allowed to go wandering around the universe in your jim-jams unless you're Arthur Dent, I'm afraid. I'll find out when and where we are and then we'll see about poking our heads out the door for a bit, yes?"

It was a blindingly logical plan of action, and Amy couldn't find fault with it, much as she wanted to; the Doctor's seeming indifference to her welfare was still smarting. She simply snorted and stalked back to the bedroom in search of some more socially acceptable clothing. After a slightly apologetic glance in the Doctor's direction, Rory trailed after her.

The Doctor was wearing sunglasses when they returned, which threw Amy a little. He was still smiling, although she knew enough by now to know that the Doctor's smile wasn't exactly the most reliable barometer, considering that she'd seen him on several occasions grinning like a lunatic even while people were in the middle of trying to kill him. She fixed on the sunglasses instead.

"Sunny out, is it?"

"Oh yes," said the Doctor. "Nice and sunny, twenty-six degrees, blue skies." His voice was perfectly cheerful, but there was the tiniest note of evasion in his tone, and Amy wasn't fooled for a moment.

"Where are we?" she said, carefully, folding her arms.

"Israel," said the Doctor, and now his smile was definitely looking a little wobbly around the edges.

What year?"

"1948," he replied, in a slightly strained voice.

"What _month_?" asked Rory, moving past Amy to confront the Doctor.

"May," said the Doctor.

Two crowded seconds passed, at the end of which Rory was on the far side of the console room, his back pressed up against the doors and his hair in wild disarray. Amy stared at him and made to cross the room, but he raised a finger in her direction, his hand noticeably shaking.

"You're not going out there and that's final," he said, severely. "And you," he went on, turning that finger on the Doctor now and waggling it threateningly, "are going to get us out of here immediately. You've landed us in the middle of a war zone!"

"Oh, don't be such a big old fusspot," said the Doctor, mildly, sauntering down the ramp to the doors and taking off his sunglasses as he went. He pressed his ear to the door and motioned to Rory to do the same. "Now," he said, "can you hear anything?"

"No," Rory admitted, after a decent interval and the smallest of eye rolls.

"No bangs, booms or ghastly screams?"

"Not as such, no."

"Can't be that bad out there then, can it?" said the Doctor, treating him to a reassuring smile. "Wars don't go on _all_ the time, you know. They've probably stopped for a cup of tea, or to go to the loo, or something like that. Besides, I've already had a little wander around out there," he went on, starting to open the door. "Nobody around but a few birdies singing their little hearts out. We're up on a hill with a lovely view of the lake."

Rory took a moment to process this, but when he'd done so, he turned and slammed the door once more, leaning on it.

"That's the Sea of Galilee and we're in the Golan Heights!" he warbled.

"Goodness," said the Doctor, apparently entirely unaffected by this information. "You do know your onions, don't you?"

"Yeah, and obviously you _don't_," replied Rory, sourly, still keeping his shoulder pressed against the door.

Amy had had enough. She squared her shoulders and stepped between the two men, giving each of them a cool glance apiece. She lingered on Rory, though, and pressed a hand to his chest, moving him away from the door.

"While I'm flattered you're being charmingly over-protective, my darling," she said, watching him wince a little at her choice of words, "I'd actually like to see a little bit of sunshine and get some fresh air. You heard what the Doctor said, it's all quiet out there. Nothing to worry about."

"There's _always_ something to worry about," said Rory, darkly, looking past her shoulder at the Doctor for a second.

"So stay here and worry about it," she said, tweaking his nose affectionately and then pulling the door open. He watched her stroll out into the brilliant sunshine, the breeze stirring her hair, and then turned a vaguely resigned expression on the Doctor before following her.

Amy, meanwhile, had found herself on the edge of a low escarpment covered in fresh spring grass and patches of low scrub, looking out over a perfectly calm stretch of blue sea. There were sea-birds circling overhead in wide, lazy sweeps, mere black curves against the bright sky, piping now and then. It was almost impossibly peaceful, so she wondered for a second why some extra sense was nagging at her to turn around and sprint back to the TARDIS. She ignored it with an effort of will, and turned to Rory and the Doctor as they joined her on the cliff.

"There's a war going on?" she said. "You'd never believe it, would you?"

"Just started a couple of days ago," said the Doctor. "I checked the chronometer. This is a brand new country, still got the shine on it. Pretty, isn't it?"

"That's not going to last, though," said Rory, almost absently, gazing out over the sea.

"What does?" asked the Doctor, though he spoke lightly.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" said Amy, more for something to break the sudden, velvet silence than for any other reason. The Doctor gave her a fond look and a raised eyebrow.

"To stop the war? Oh, Pond," he said, only gently reproving, "you know we can't mend this. Only _they_ can," he added, pointing out over the sea to a distant brown smudge on the horizon, which she took to be a town. Which one, she didn't know; her command of geography was admittedly shaky.

"Er. Amy..." said Rory, tugging at her sleeve. She didn't respond for a second. She was still gazing at that faraway town, wondering what it was called.

"Amy," repeated Rory, and now his voice was distinctly hoarse. It wasn't until the Doctor leaned in to speak into her ear that she pulled her attention away from the town.

"That's Nazareth," he said, quietly. "And now I've satisfied your evident curiosity, I think it might be best if you turn around very slowly. Sudden moves are not an awfully good idea at this time. Yes?"

While his tone was still just as soothing as always, his voice was quite flat, and communicated more than enough healthy concern to get through to her. She did as he'd urged, raising her hands to shoulder height and turning gently on her axis until she was looking back at the TARDIS. Between it and them there now stood a small squad of soldiers in khaki. Their caps were pulled down to shield their faces against the sun, making their eyes hard to read, but their expressions were clearly not of the friendly and accommodating kind. This was just a minor detail, though; Amy had already realised that this was not a welcoming committee when she spotted the heavy black guns trained on the three of them. She cleared her throat nervously, but it was the Doctor who spoke up first.

"Hello," he said, brightly. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Amy and Rory. Lovely country you have here, absolutely delightful, it really is." He paused for a fraction of a second, then rallied. "Anyway, I know this is a dreadful cliché and trust me, I don't like it any more than you do, but I wonder if you'd be kind enough to take us to your leader...?"


	2. Chapter 2

The truck bumped over a series of potholes on the dusty road, jarring everyone in the rear, prisoners and escort alike. Amy scowled and shifted around on the bench seat, trying to find a less painful position, but eventually gave up and resigned herself to a future involving a mildly bruised tail-bone. She glanced across the cramped space at their guards, who seemed to be nervous about something, and she finally snapped.

"Excuse me?" she said, sharply, leaning across to the youngest of the soldiers, a doe-eyed young man who looked barely old enough to be out of school. She felt Rory place a restraining hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off and tapped the soldier on the knee, making him jump like a startled gerbil.

"I said, excuse me," she repeated, a little louder. "Where are you taking us, exactly?" He cast a quick, panicky glance to the rear of the truck, looking to his sergeant, who nodded curtly.

"To see the Lieutenant General, miss," he said, in a heavy accent. "Just as your friend asked."

"Right," she said, a little mollified, but slightly unsure if having extracted this particular piece of information by query was that great a victory. It wasn't as if they were any better informed as a result, and so she straightened her spine and sat back, feeling vaguely embarrassed.

"Well done," said the Doctor, and she swung her head around. He was apparently perfectly at ease, his head tipped back against the canvas siding of the truck and a little smile playing about his mouth. "Courage, use of initiative and a clear, confident tone of voice. Top marks for effort, anyway."

Amy wondered for a second if he was mocking her a little, and she frowned, meaning to berate him, but then Rory cleared his throat and sat forward, addressing the young soldier himself.

"This is the Jordan Valley sector, is it?" he asked. The young man adopted a deeply puzzled look for a second, but eventually gave a brief nod. Rory pursed his lips in thought, but said nothing more until Amy eventually gave in to curiosity and poked him in the bicep.

"Hey," she said. "Why'd you ask him that?"

"I think I know who we're going to meet," he told her, and seemed about to continue, but was interrupted by the sight of the Doctor's face, appearing around Amy's shoulder with a mildly surprised expression printed on it.

"Who's the group clever-clogs today, then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Rory. "How come you know all this brainy stuff? I never knew you did history."

Rory bridled a little. "I read books," he said, his brows dropping. "How come you _don't _know all this?"

"Well, I don't know everything, do I?" said the Doctor, evenly.

"Do you have a pen and paper?" Rory asked him.

"I think so, why?"

"Because I'd like you to write that statement down and sign it, or nobody's ever going to believe what I just heard."

Amy had been darting her head back and forth in silence, watching this verbal sparring match with some interest, but now she let out a laugh that she managed to turn into a tactful cough along the way. A poor attempt at misdirection; the Doctor glared at her, but she could see that his annoyance was only an act, and he eventually cracked a pleasant grin of his own as the soldiers on the other bench watched the three of them in growing bewilderment.

The rickety truck scratched to a halt in a shower of loose stones and a puff of dry earth, and Amy craned her neck out the window in the rear doors to see where they were. The glass was foggy and dull, though, and it wasn't until the doors had been flung back and their guard were motioning them out at gunpoint that she saw their destination. They were parked in front of a cluster of low, drab buildings that looked heavily fortified, and were surrounded by a high chain link fence topped with tight curls of barbed wire. The sergeant had moved on ahead to open a sturdy steel door, then beckoned to his squad, who indicated to the three that they should move inside.

"So who are we going to see?" Amy hissed to Rory as they crossed the open parking strip beneath a shimmering noonday sun, their hands not in the air but nonetheless kept pointedly visible.

"You'll find out in a minute," he told her, and that seemed to be that. The time for conversation was now over, anyway; the soldiers seemed very uneasy indeed now they'd reached the base, and she sensed that any residual good humour caused by the little moment in the truck had definitely passed. The youngest soldier, now all business, jerked his rifle at them, and the Doctor nodded cooperatively and politely and walked into the relative gloom beyond the open door, trailing Amy and Rory in his wake.

The door was slammed behind them with what Amy felt was extremely ominous finality, leaving them in a narrow, bare brick corridor with just two of their armed escort left inside, one ahead and one behind. The sergeant stalked away from them without looking back, led them to a low door that stood ajar at the end of the passage and knocked on the frame with the barrel of his rifle.

"What is it?" was the smooth reply from inside the room. To Amy's ear, the unseen speaker sounded a trifle annoyed, perhaps at being interrupted at some minor task or other, but his tone was otherwise pleasant.

"We have the Doctor and his friends here, General," said the sergeant, gruffly. Amy turned her head to Rory, startled, but she saw that the same look of surprise was blossoming on his face as well.

"Show them in." Now, in spite of the fact that it still possessed the same economy of words, the voice had changed, and was tinted with curiosity. The sergeant jabbed his gun at the three and then at the door, a fairly unambiguous gesture, and Amy reached down without looking and grabbed hold of Rory's hand as they filed into the lamp-lit room beyond.

The office was cramped, but there was room for two filing cabinets and a grey-painted steel desk, and it was from behind this latter piece of furniture that a man in uniform was now rising, looking them over. Amy looked back as hard as she could, determined not to be cowed, but she was struck at once by the black patch over his left eye, and focused on that for a second or two before remembering to take in any other details. He was perhaps in his mid thirties with a round, friendly face and close-cropped dark hair, and while his smile was slightly crooked it was also extremely charming. His one remaining eye was dark and intelligent and twinkled as he ran his gaze over Amy in particular.

"You may leave us, Sergeant, and close the door behind you," he said, eventually, finally peeling that slightly prurient stare away from Amy and directing a far more businesslike strand of attention at the Doctor instead. Quite unexpectedly, he held out a hand across the desk, which the Doctor grasped and shook, and then the general motioned to some spare steel chairs stacked behind the door. Once the three were seated, he sat back down and steepled his fingers against his chin in momentary silence.

"I've been waiting for you, Doctor," he said, placidly.

"It seems you have, yes," said the Doctor. "These are my friends, by the way, Rory and Amy Pond."

"_Williams_," muttered Rory, beneath his breath, out of habit, but the Doctor – if he heard this – evidently decided to pretend otherwise and merely sallied on quite unconcerned.

"Amy, Rory, this is Lieutenant General Moshe Dayan, who has" – he twinkled conspiratorially for a second before continuing – "apparently been expecting us. Now you'll excuse me being terribly nosey, General, but I imagine if you were in my position you'd quite like to know why that is, because we only ended up here entirely by accident."

"Yes, I would," said the general, and that one eye radiated a brief trace of amusement before he appeared to make a decision of some sort. "Very well," he went on, with a light sigh. "I don't think there's any point in prolonging what I fully intend to tell you anyway. My men apprehended a young man yesterday, just on the spot where you yourselves were found. He was clearly neither Arab nor Jew, and thus quite out of place in such a setting as this, no?" The general shifted slightly in his seat and glanced at Amy once more before continuing. "Once we questioned him, he told us just two things, and has continued to say just those two things in spite of all our attempts at persuasion."

"Persuasion?" echoed the Doctor, and Amy looked sideways at his face. His eyes were cold and narrow and his tone, normally so kindly, could have etched steel. The general reacted at once, holding up his hands and looking mortified.

"Doctor, please!" he said, sharply. "We are not barbarians and we are _certainly_ not torturers. He has been treated with courtesy at all times, you have my word. Anyway," he went on, "what he told us over and over, when we asked, was that he was from the future and that the Doctor would come to fetch him. And here you are, true to his word."

"So," said the Doctor, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his chin, "you know me, and he knows me. I'm really not used to being the only person who's left out of the loop. This is turning into quite an interesting day. Why do I get the feeling it's only going to get even more interesting from here on? Has he told you his name?"

"He has not, no."

"Then can I please see this mystery chap, General? At the very least I can try to identify him for you, and then hopefully get him back to his own time where he belongs, and everyone can go home for tea and biccies. What do you think?"

"That is just what I had in mind all along, Doctor," said the general, and then stood, circling the desk and opening the door. "Come with me, please," he added, and walked out into the corridor without stopping to check if they were following. The Doctor prised himself out of his chair and left the room, and after a shared shrug, Amy and Rory did the same.

The general led them through a side door into a small whitewashed ante-room, where he paused and extracted a key from his pocket and slotted it into the lock on the far door with a brisk rattle, before turning it and pushing the door open. He then stood back and curled a hand in the Doctor's direction, waving him through.

Amy got the impression that this invitation was for the Doctor alone, but curiosity had her in its talons and she could no more have restrained her feet than she could have defied gravity. The general didn't stop her as she followed the Doctor into the cell, however, and once in there she studied the sole occupant with interest. He looked to be in his early twenties at the most, with a short crop of bright ginger hair with accompanying freckles, and was wearing shirtsleeves and a modest striped tie.

He'd been given a newspaper to read, but since it was in Hebrew, he'd given up and was simply staring down at it blindly. The click of the lock and the creak of the door hadn't roused him from this stupor; it seemed to Amy, though, that the sound of the Doctor's footsteps was something else entirely, something meaningful at last. The young man jerked his head up, and if there was a look of high confusion in his pale blue eyes, it was nothing compared to the thunderstruck look on the Doctor's face.

"_Turlough_?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Doctor? Is that you?"

Amy watched the young man unfold himself from his seat, dropping the newspaper as he did so, now quite heedless of it. He cocked his head a little, still wide-eyed and slightly slack of jaw. A quick sideways glance told her that the Doctor's face was pretty much a mirror of this, so she decided to venture some more of her initiative on an attempt at breaking the conversational deadlock in front of her.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" she said, with forced brightness, taking the Doctor's arm gently. He started, as if her touch was entirely unfamiliar, and then seemed to recover, looking around at her at last.

"I'm sorry, of course," he said, though he still looked shell-shocked and his voice was both distant and unsteady. "Amy, this is Vislor Turlough, he travelled with me about thirty years ago. Turlough, Amy Pond."

"Thirty years? But he doesn't look –" Amy began, but got no further. The Doctor took her by the shoulders and pulled her into a hug, and in doing so brought his mouth alongside her ear, where he whispered to her, his speech rapid and staccato with urgency.

"You of all people should know by now that time is not inflexible," he said, "but this time it's gone wrong, do you understand me? Very, possibly even _horribly _wrong, and I intend to find out why, but first I have to ask my old friend something and it is absolutely imperative that the general doesn't overhear it. Go out there and distract his attention for a minute or so, that's all I need. Shoo!" With this, he removed her from his embrace and nodded at the open cell door, his eyes wide.

When she'd gone, the Doctor waited in silence until the sound of low conversation indicated that Amy had successfully fielded General Dayan. He counted to ten under his breath, his lips barely moving, and then returned his attention to Turlough, and now his expression, though quite calm, was also deeply, deadly serious.

"I need to know whether you're the Turlough I can trust," he said, very softly, "or the one I can't. I'm going to ask you one question that'll prove to you that I'm the Doctor, and if you can answer it, that'll prove to me it's safe to turn my back on you.

"Now," the Doctor went on, gravely, "I want you to tell me what happened on the _Buccaneer_."

* * *

><p>"You're awfully brave, you know," said Amy, playing up to the general and pushing her chest out just a little. She could feel Rory's stare falling on the back of her head, half bewildered and half jealous, and she hoped against hope that he'd either understand that this was only a ruse or, failing that, at least keep his mouth shut until she had a chance to explain herself. As it was, she merely fluttered her eyelashes a little and cringed inside.<p>

The general seemed to be appreciating her blandishments even if he probably didn't believe they were in the least bit sincere, and as a matter of inevitability she watched his gaze flick down to the open neck of her shirt every few seconds. It was in fact more open than was strictly necessary, since she'd popped the top button on her way out of the cell.

It was therefore with a sense of relief that Amy heard the door of the cell swing back and turned to see the Doctor emerge, leading Turlough with a friendly hand laid on the young man's shoulder. Amy took a moment to study them both, and noted that the Doctor looked relieved and Turlough ever so slightly chastened. Neither of these expressions were overt, though, so she filed the observation away and smiled at the Doctor.

"Everything all right?" she asked him.

"I think so," he said, and then patted Turlough's shoulder before removing his hand. "Yes, I think it will be. I just need to find out what's happened here then I can start sorting it out. Shouldn't take a jiffy."

Amy watched the Doctor's eyes as he spoke. Though his voice was as confident and as clear as ever, there was a tiny spark of something in his mild brown eyes; something that looked very much like fear. Only that was absurd, she told herself, and promptly dismissed this conclusion with a slight shake of her head.

"First, though," the Doctor was saying, "is it all right if I leave you three to get acquainted? Only I think I would like a few little words with General Dayan in private. Um. If that's all right, of course?" he added, raising an eyebrow at the general, who offered him a thin smile and a short nod in response. "Good, good, thank you. I won't be long," said the Doctor, and together, the two of them left the room.

"Well," said Amy, and then wondered what to say next. She looked at Rory and could see from his very, very carefully neutral expression that he was itching to interrogate her about her Olympic-standard flirting with the general, but reluctant to do so in front of a total stranger. It was this that prompted her to remember Turlough, and she directed a concerned glance at the young man. He seemed almost frightened of the pair of them, or at least of _something_, lurking in the far corner of the room and darting glances at this and that, and she suspected he was a little younger than her first assessment, perhaps not even out of his 'teens. She plastered on a reassuring smile and then moved over to him.

"Hey, so you knew the Doctor in the old days then?" she asked. "What was he like?"

The question seemed to break through Turlough's apprehension, and he returned her smile at last, which lit up his features a little. He leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets before replying, his voice cultured and melodious.

"He was a good man," he said, nodding at some specific memory or other. "Brave, strange and sometimes very funny indeed. Very good at cricket, too. Does he still play?"

"No," said Rory, from the far side of the room, with a sardonic curve to his mouth. "Apparently it's football these days."

"Football?" said Turlough, shaking his head, amused. "Goodness, no. I can't picture that at all. He's still in there, though."

"Who is?" asked Amy, with a quizzical head-tilt.

"My Doctor. One look in his eyes and I saw it straight away. Him and all the others, still in there." Turlough paused to draw in enough breath for a sigh, and then went on. "Every time he regenerates it's just adding another layer, that's all. So many people in one body now, I wonder that he's still sane..."

"Who said he's sane?" said Rory, still sounding irked. Amy shot him a brief but potent glare and then turned back to the conversation.

"You don't know how you got here?" she said. Turlough hesitated fractionally and then shook his head, his brow furrowing.

"Not the faintest idea, I'm afraid. Last thing I remember, it's 1984, I'd just gone home to my own planet after leaving the Doctor, then next thing I know, I'm back on Earth and surrounded by distinctly unfriendly Israelis with large guns. I told them the truth because I was worried they'd shoot me otherwise. Better to be thought barking mad than a spy, yes?"

"This feels deliberate," said Amy, and immediately wondered why she'd done so. Both Turlough and Rory were looking at her curiously now. She shuttled her gaze between them once or twice and then collected her thoughts a little better. "Doesn't it?" she insisted. "Something brought us all here and landed us on the exact same spot overlooking one of the most important events of the twentieth century."

She hesitated. It _was_ fear she'd seen in the Doctor's eyes, and it was spreading.

"What if this is a trap?" she said.

* * *

><p>"I think my first question, General," said the Doctor, his words carefully measured, "is this: why do you believe us? Don't get me wrong, this makes a very nice change, but I'm used to having to prove myself to people when I try to tell them I'm a time traveller. You see my point?"<p>

"Of course," said the general, nodding sagely. They'd returned to his office, and he and was now sat half in a pool of shadow on the far side of the desk, staring at the Doctor with clinical intensity. "My reasons? I know that neither you nor your friends are Syrian spies, the idea is ridiculous. Even if you were, what kind of spy makes up such a lunatic cover story? No, you were either lying for other reasons, or you were crazy, or you were telling the truth." He paused long enough to fish a battered tin flask from his desk drawer and pour a modest measure of amber liquid into a glass, then proffered the flask to the Doctor, who declined politely.

"You don't smell of lies, and believe me, Doctor, lies stink. Crazy? One person, perhaps, but when four people all have the same story, it cannot be insanity. So you see," he finished, taking a sip of whisky and swilling it a little before swallowing, "I eliminated all but one option. That is all."

The Doctor had listened to this litany without moving in the slightest, but now he sat back and regarded the general with something like admiration.

"You're a very singular man," he said, simply.

"Perhaps for the best, hm?" the general replied, in perfectly good humour. "Some might say the world couldn't survive more than one like me. I don't think it's intended as a compliment, but that, too, is quite all right. Oh, by the way," he added, visibly changing tack and draining his glass to the bottom before sitting straight in his chair, "I told my men to collect your blue box. I thought you'd be happier with it close by."

"Thank you, very kind of you, and I wait what's that now?" You told them to pick up the TARDIS?" said the Doctor, now sitting bolt upright himself.

"If that's the name of your machine, then yes."

"But they're not supposed to be able to see it..." The Doctor's voice, which had started out strong enough, faded suddenly like a weak radio signal, as if he were vastly preoccupied. He blinked twice, then pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head like a horse with a fly in its ear.

"Something is wrong?" asked the general, starting to rise from his seat. The Doctor waved a hand, trying to indicate that he was all right, but then slumped forward in his chair and cradled his head in his hands. After sucking in a desperate, snorting breath, he managed to find his voice once more.

"I wonder if you could fetch Amy for me?" he asked without looking up, his voice high and fluting on the lower edge of panic. The general nodded his assent and then dodged out from around his desk, pulled the door open and hurried out of the room.

Left alone now, the Doctor rocked back and forth with his hands in his hair, keening softly and persistently. Then all at once, he straightened up so fast that he rocketed out of the chair and hit the edge of the desk, his fingernails squealing on the surface as he clutched at it for balance. He raised his head one last time, his eyes glowing not just from the light of the desk lamp but with some golden fire all their own.

"Doctor Foreman?" he said, his voice sounding puzzled and sleepy, and then he tumbled to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Where __is __he_?"

Amy rounded on General Dayan so fast and so aggressively that he backed away and bounced off the door behind him. She felt a small pang of contrition, but not much; her overriding concern right now was for the Doctor. She'd arrived in the office at a dead run, but the room was nevertheless entirely innocent of Time Lord.

She scanned the immediate area, but the tiny room was short on effective hiding places and the window, as well as being far too small to climb through, was securely locked from the inside in any case. The only sign that anything was wrong was the fact that the floor was scattered with papers and the desk lamp overturned. Distractedly, she righted the lamp and then looked down, stooping to pick up something that had caught her eye.

It was the Doctor's bow tie. Amy turned it over in her hand, thinking, and then set her mouth in a thin line and turned to the general.

"What happened to him?"

"He was taken sick, and requested that I summon you," said the general. "That is all I know."

"Could he have regenerated?" asked Turlough, sounding unsure of himself. He flinched a little as he suddenly found himself the centre of attention. Nevertheless, he pressed on. "If so, he'll be in something of a state and we need to find him quickly. He may not even remember where he is."

"Why would he do that?" demanded Amy, her voice edged with panic. "He's not dying."

"We don't know that."

"This is wasting time," said Rory, firmly. "We'll search the building first and then look outside."

"He'll be looking for the TARDIS, I should think," said Turlough, helpfully. "It's like some kind of homing instinct."

"Fine," said Amy, planting her hands on her hips and glaring around at the men. "But we're splitting up, and don't even think of arguing. Rory, you and the general look around here. You," she said, advancing on Turlough and taking him by the arm, "come with me. We'll search outside."

When Amy had dragged the startled young man out of the room, the general turned to Rory with an air of faint awe about him.

"Your wife is a very determined woman," he observed.

"You have _no_ idea."

* * *

><p>Amy shoved open the door with the flat of her hand and strode out into the dusty yard with Turlough in her wake, hurrying to keep up with her. The sun was almost gone and the light was draining from the shallow valley, but there was still enough left to see by, and everything in sight was bathed in gold. There were two soldiers stationed on either side of the door, and one of them raised his rifle hesitantly, meaning to stop her, but Amy swung her head around and directed a meaningful stare at him until he wilted.<p>

"Weren't you worried about getting shot?" said Turlough, as they moved on, circling the building and peering into corners as they went.

"No," said Amy, without looking around at him. "I'm worried about the Doctor. Everything else can wait."

"I'm sure he's fine."

"You've travelled with him, you know what he's like, and that's what you think?" said Amy, with a soft, derisive snort. "I wouldn't change him for the world, but he's always getting into trouble. Trouble is what he does best, and it terrifies me that one day his luck's going to run out." She stopped briefly, and turned her head, looking him up and down. "Aren't you scared?"

"Honestly? No." Turlough shrugged slightly. "I don't believe in luck. You spend enough time around the Doctor and you begin to see how meaningless a concept it really is. I found that –" he cut himself off, frowned and then raised a hand, pointing over her shoulder. "There it is."

Amy spun around and followed the line of his arm, and spotted the TARDIS, now little more than an angular silhouette in the gathering twilight, though its windows were lit and looked, at that point, more reassuring than anything she'd ever seen. She started towards it, and as she picked up her pace she saw a familiar tweed-jacketed figure round the side of the police box, fussing over it and running his hands across the weathered blue panels. Her heart stuttered gratefully, and she slowed as she approached him.

"Doctor?" she said, almost sick with happiness at having found him again. He turned at the sound of her voice, and it was only then that she stopped in her tracks, feet scuffing up the dust and jaw flopping open.

"Oh! Hello," he said. "You don't happen to have the spare key on you, do you? Only she doesn't seem to want to let me in, can't think what's got her in such a strop, it's not..." He wound down then and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead briefly, as if trying to resurrect a difficult memory. Amy hadn't yet finished staring, and she didn't even register Turlough's arrival at her side until he moved past her and took the bemused, faintly smiling Doctor by the shoulders, looking him over in astonishment.

Amy finally managed to shut her mouth and then ran her eyes over the Doctor's face. He looked like her grandfather, or, at least, like somebody's grandfather. He now had the appearance of a man approaching his seventies, with abundant silky white hair brushed back from his temples, a high forehead, a fine aquiline nose and piercing eyes lined with crow's feet.

"What's happened to him?" she croaked. Turlough let the Doctor go and stepped back a pace, looking at her, his face passing through several difficult expressions in the space of a few seconds, and then shook his head.

"I have absolutely no idea," he said hoarsely, shooting a glance back at the Doctor, who seemed content, for the time being, to stand and smile at them, although Amy didn't think he was paying too much attention to current events.

"Has he regenerated?"

"Look," said Turlough, through a patient sigh, "we can stand out here and ask questions that I can't possibly answer, or you can help me get him back inside and we can try to snap him out of it and hopefully get a drop of sense out of him. The only person who can work why this has happened is the Doctor himself."

The task wasn't as difficult as she'd feared. The Doctor was totally compliant, verging on sheep-like, and when she took his hand, he squeezed it briefly and said: "You're a good girl, Susan," in a fond tone that hurt her heart. She returned his happy, vacant smile and led him back around to the front of the barracks, with Turlough keeping a cautionary hand on the Doctor's other elbow, just in case.

"He said something had gone wrong with time," she said, as they walked.

"Something of an understatement, I fancy," said Turlough, grimly, helping her to swivel the Doctor around a corner.

"What was it he asked you?"

When there was no immediate response, she craned her neck and fixed the young man with a raised eyebrow and a meaningful stare. He quailed and glanced away for a second.

"He said I wasn't to tell anyone else."

"It might be important," insisted Amy.

"It isn't. Believe me."

She decided that this could wait until they'd dealt with their more pressing concerns, but resolved to come back to the matter in hand as soon as she had the slightest chance. Something about Turlough was beginning to weigh on her suspicions. He was superficially friendly, and clearly highly intelligent, but there was now a tiny seed of distrust sprouting in Amy's mind. She filed it away and then pulled the door open, piloted the Doctor through and led him back to the office.

Rory and the general weren't there, so she urged him down into a chair and then bent down in front of him, taking his hands in hers. She looked down at those hands, saw how lined they were, and speckled with faint liver spots, and then raised her gaze to his face once more.

"Doctor?" she said, gently, trying to encourage him. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

"We had a lovely view of the lake," he said.

Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound a little sharper now?

"That's right," she said, soothingly. "And where are we?"

"Israel," he said. His tone was definitely strengthening, but his eyes were still roaming to and fro and drifting in and out of focus in a way that caused her great concern. She quashed the worst of her fear and turned, nodding over her shoulder at Turlough, who was lurking in the doorway and keeping his counsel for the moment.

"And do you know who this is?" she asked, still keeping her tone as calm as she could.

"I..." He stared at the young man for a few seconds, then blinked slowly, pulled one hand free of hers and rubbed at his face. "Hard to say," he said, sounding tired again, that brief certainty draining from him like quicksilver.

"What about me?" He didn't look at her, didn't even react to her query, so she cupped his face in her palms and slowly, gently realigned his head. His wrinkled skin felt strange beneath her touch, but she shoved this observation away and focused on him. "Doctor? Who am I?"

He smiled sweetly, and concentrated on her face, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection.

"My Sarah Jane," he said, and then sagged with a tiny, almost inaudible gasp, slumping sideways in the chair, his eyes rolling back in his head. Turlough started, moving into the room at last to assist her, and together they lowered him to the floor. Amy pulled off her jacket and rolled it up before placing it under his head, then she knelt down and laid her head on his chest for a second.

"Both still beating," she said, her voice silted with relief, and straightened up as Rory appeared in the doorway, looking painfully flustered. His gaze dropped at once.

"You've found him?" he said. "Is he all right and...oh what the bloody hell?" This time he really _looked_ at the Doctor, and his eyes widened considerably.

"We don't know what's happened," said Amy, bouncing to her feet and taking his arm. "He's very confused and right now he's also unconscious, but he's alive. The TARDIS has locked itself and we don't know why. That's the short explanation, and it also happens to be the long one as well, so it's going to have to do for now." She was babbling, and she knew it. For want of anything else to say or do, she threw her arms around Rory's neck and hugged him desperately, struggling not to cry. He returned her affection and wrapped her in his arms, murmuring gently into her ear.

"It'll be all right," he said, quietly. "We'll sort this out somehow."

"Just whom do you mean by 'we', Mr Pond?" said a clear, imperious voice, from behind them. Amy turned in the circle of Rory's arms and then broke into a halting smile. The Doctor was levering himself to his feet and, once he'd righted himself to his satisfaction, he glanced down and pulled at the lapel of his jacket between finger and thumb, his lip curling.

"Tweed? In this weather? I must be going quite batty in my old age," he said, scoffing quietly, and then raised his head once more. His thin lips were set in a small, confident smile, and he nodded at each of them in turn.

"Turlough, Amy, Rory. What a pretty pickle this is, hm?" he said. "Still, no matter. I have the necessary knowledge to hand now. I know when and where I am, I know who you are, and I know what's happened to me.

"Most important of all," he added, his smile fading, "I have a shrewd idea who's behind this."


	5. Chapter 5

"Doctor, are you _sure_ you're all right?"

Rory was the first to venture their shared concern, and even then, only after several minutes of bemused silence. They'd all repaired to the council room at the rear of the barracks, where the Doctor had found a small mirror on the wall and was now staring into it with rapt self-absorption, occasionally prodding his cheeks and wrinkling his nose.

"This feels extremely peculiar," he observed, mostly to himself, turning his head to one side and brushing at a stray lock of silver hair. "I have missed this old body, in a way. It was pretty serviceable. Had a few creaks and cracks here and there, of course, but then I didn't seem to be doing nearly as much running back then, so it wasn't a problem. Everyone seems to be running around these days," he added, faintly ruefully, and then gave the mirror one last, slightly curious little smile before spinning around on his heel.

"I'm absolutely top notch, thank you, Rory," he said. "Now, where were we?"

"You told us you knew who'd done this," prompted General Dayan, his voice cool with subtle overtones of command.

"I have my suspicions, certainly," said the Doctor, pouting thoughtfully for a second before recovering his expression once more.

Amy was watching and listening to this exchange very carefully. The Doctor's posture and mode of speech seemed to be returning to normal, even though this meant that they jarred a little with his current appearance, which seemed far more suited to dignified rectitude.

"Then tell us: whom do you suspect?" asked the general.

"A rather nasty piece of work named the Trickster," said the Doctor, taking a seat and planting his elbows on the table. He laced his fingers together, first one way and then the other, and then stared at the others over his knuckles. "He likes to potter around changing the course of history to cause chaos. Goodness knows what he gets out of it, the little devil. Anyway," he went on, sitting back again, "for whatever reasons, he's got an agenda here, and we can't sort things out until we find out what he wants to change and who he's using to do it."

"Why has he changed your appearance, though?" asked Turlough, frowning.

"That?" said the Doctor, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "Nothing but a rather fascinating side effect. It'll go away when we fix things. How to explain it..." He screwed up his face in consideration for a second, and then refocused his attention on his audience. "Basically, we're back in time. I know what you're going to say," he said, as Amy started to open her mouth, "but think of it like this: I usually just skip between chapters. The Trickster's trying to rewrite the book, and in the process he's inadvertently returned me to my original form, because this is what I looked like in 1948. I'm still me underneath, don't worry about that, but there appears to be a slight morphic resonance effect and you might find old personality traits popping up now and again. Bearing that in mind, I'd like to warn you all in advance that there may be occasional moments of grumpiness. I do recall being a little bit grumpy in this body."

His face dropped, becoming sober; it was as if a curtain had fallen across him and hid his expression in shadow. When he spoke again his voice was tight with barely concealed concern.

"We're now all very much a part of events here," he said, "and we have to be terribly careful. Any one of us could be the catalyst."

"This is madness," said the general, pushing himself to his feet and circling the table until he was standing over the Doctor, who merely looked up at him with an amiable smile. "You expect me to accept such a flight of fantasy?"

"Right," said the Doctor, slowly and carefully and only after a decent pause. "So you were doing all right on the belief front until what point, exactly?"

"You mock me, Doctor?" said the general, his eye narrowing. He folded his arms and continued to stare down at the Time Lord, whose face was still firmly set in a friendly, conciliatory expression.

"Not at all, General, and by no means," the Doctor insisted. "However," he added, easing his chair back and standing up to address the man face to face, "I'm the only one who needs your good faith in order to get anything done. Regardless of what you believe, and no matter what you do, the Trickster will change history around your ears, and if he gets his way then this entire planet may be at stake. He never plays for small change, trust me. If you think you can afford to be wrong about your conclusions," the Doctor finished, just as quietly as he'd begun, "then feel free to have us all locked up, or tortured, or whatever it is you have in mind, but I'm asking you nicely: please let me help."

Amy exchanged nervous glances with the others as they watched this showdown, and then focused her attention on General Dayan's face. Even from the far side of the room it was clear that he was now embroiled in a considerable mental battle, though he didn't once remove his gaze from the Doctor's face while it went on. The Doctor, by contrast, seemed to be perfectly calm and still as he waited for a reaction.

"Very well," said the general at last, relaxing his stance minutely. "I don't see that I have any choice."

"There's always a choice," said the Doctor kindly, patting his shoulder; this overly familiar gesture took the general by surprise. "This is all about choices. Someone here has made a deal with the Trickster of their own free will, and it's critical we find out who it is."

"Why would anyone bargain with such a creature as you describe?"

The Doctor sighed painfully, and then ran a hand through his hair before replying. "He didn't get his name for nothing, General. He makes deals for people's lives. When someone's about to die, they're vulnerable to him and open to persuasion. He promises to spare them if they perform a little service for him."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy caught a tiny movement. Turlough had flinched visibly, and was now staring at his hands, which lay on the table in front of him, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were shading to white. After a few seconds, he seemed to sense her gaze falling on him, and flicked the shortest of sidelong glances in her direction before unwinding with what looked like a tremendous effort of will.

"Are you all right?" she asked him, and there was a faintly interrogative edge to the question that she was powerless to subdue.

"It's nothing, I'm fine. Thank you," said Turlough, offering her a weak smile before turning his attention back to the Doctor. Amy narrowed her eyes a fraction, but eventually did the same.

"How do you propose to find it?" the general was asking. He was still clearly both sceptical and angry, squaring up to the Doctor and fairly bristling with emotion. The Doctor, as usual, seemed totally oblivious to this, and merely offered him a charming smile. To Amy, it looked like her Doctor's smile even though it was the product of an unfamiliar face, and she found this reassuring.

"Ah," he said, brightly. "There I think we can be of some assistance. Let me introduce you to my secret weapon. Rory?"

Rory jumped as every other pair of eyes in the room landed on him at once. He started to speak, produced nothing but a small, squeaky noise and then cleared his throat loudly.

"Me...? What?" he stuttered. "How can I help?"

"Goodness me, that's not the attitude, is it?" said the Doctor, amiably, wandering over to the far end of the table and straddling the empty chair next to him. "Positive thinking, that's the trick. Take a lesson from your dear wife. We need that clever old brain of yours, of course," he finished, tapping a finger against Rory's temple for a moment.

"What?" said Rory, once again. His eyes darted to and fro like mice in a jar.

"You're the history boffin," said the Doctor, patiently. "We're at a turning point here. Something very, very important indeed is about to happen, and it's vital that you remember what it is. My Earth history's a little bit on the sketchy side. I don't think anyone else can help here." He paused and swung his head around. "Turlough? I don't suppose you remember anything from your history lessons?"

"Sorry, Doctor," said Turlough, with an elegant shrug. "British Empire only, and it wasn't as if I was the most attentive of pupils in any case."

"Oh well, never mind, always worth asking. So, Rory," said the Doctor, turning back and adopting a comforting little grin, "it's up to you, I'm afraid."

"Well, the only thing I can think of is that –" Rory began, but was interrupted when the Doctor raised a finger to silence him.

"Hold onto that thought," he said. "I'll be right back." He bounced to his feet and turned around, slipping an arm around the general's shoulders. "Now, General," he said, smoothly, as he led the man towards the door, "I'm very sorry about this, but it could cause all sorts of horrible little difficulties with the timeline if you find out about your own future, so even though this might seem unconscionably rude of me and I do apologise, it really is for the best if you don't listen in on this conversation. Okay? Okay." With that, he ushered the general out of the room and locked the door behind him.

"Right," he said, brightly, "now, what were you going to say?" and returned to his seat as if he hadn't just treated one of the most noted military commanders in history like a naughty schoolboy.

"Doctor," said Amy, after a long pause for thought and to rearrange her expression of surprise into one befitting her current concerns, "was that a good idea?"

"I think so. Why?"

"You said we're part of events now. What if he's _supposed_ to find out what Rory's going to tell us, and you just changed that?"

"I..." said the Doctor, and then tailed off, drumming his fingers on the table. Amy stared. Seeing him well and truly discomfited was unusual and unpleasant, and she was starting to regret having spoken up. "No," he said, firmly, shaking his head at last. "We can't start thinking like that. We'll end up turning our brains inside out. Standard procedure, I think. We'll avoid spoilers unless it's absolutely necessary."

"But..."

"_No_, Amy," he said, severely, and then returned his attention to Rory. "You were saying?"

Rory gave her a look that was part sympathy and part embarrassment, and then bit his lip.

"If the date's right," he said, hesitantly, "then there's going to be a major Syrian invasion through the valley. Um. Tomorrow," he added, now looking profoundly uneasy. "General Dayan's troops manage to defend the border."

"But this time they might fail," said the Doctor, staring off into space, his brow furrowed. "And what happens if they do? Is this battle crucial to the outcome of the war?"

"It could be," said Rory, looking around for support. Amy gave him a helpless half-smile, but said nothing. "If Israel falls, the Americans probably won't be too happy about it."

"Oh dear." The Doctor's voice was distant and badly troubled. "And we know what the Americans do when they're not happy, don't we? This could mean World War Three. Nuclear war, this time."

"So," said Turlough, sitting back and folding his hands together in his lap, "how exactly do we go about stopping this?"

* * *

><p>General Dayan stared at the closed door for two or three seconds with his mouth hanging open, and then snapped his lips together, his features hardening. He raised his hand, meaning to hammer on the door, and then subsided once more. He drew several deep, calming breaths, and then looked around to see two of his men lurking at the end of the corridor, watching him owlishly.<p>

"You two!" he snapped. "Come with me. I have an important job for you."


	6. Chapter 6

Much as she was used to the Doctor's erratic bursts of energy, Amy still struggled to keep up with him as he loped down the corridor, hands waving at ten to two and hair flying. He'd spent several minutes muttering in the corner of the council room before seeming to arrive at a solution, at which point he'd lit up like a pinball machine and then, without further comment, made a dash for the door, leaving his companions to eyeball one another for a few seconds before giving chase.

He burst out into the yard without breaking stride and without checking to see if anyone was following him, and only then did he come to a halt, so suddenly that Amy ran into him and rebounded a little. By the time she'd recovered her balance he'd set off once more, picking up his heels in the gathering twilight and making a beeline for the lighted windows of the TARDIS.

He didn't get far, and by the time Amy and the others had caught up to him once more, she saw why he'd stopped again. The general was leaning against the door of the TARDIS, his arms tightly folded and his expression set in stone. Flanking him were two of his men, their rifles unshipped and trained on the Doctor.

"I suspected you might try to escape," said the general, when he seemed sure he had everyone's attention. "So until I'm satisfied that you have resolved matters, Doctor, I'm afraid your vehicle is out of bounds."

"Oh, no," said the Doctor, laughing a little and tugging nervously at his cuffs as he eyed the general's armed company. "You really do have the wrong end of the stick, I'm afraid. I just need to check the data banks, that's all. I wasn't planning on leaving."

"Trust appears to be a problem here, no?" replied the general, with a humourless smile and an icy spark flickering in his eye. "I am not pleased at being excluded from discussions that concern the future of my country, and by doing so you insult me. So as it's clearly not working, trust has been abandoned, and you and your friends may consider yourselves under arrest as of now. Try to leave the base or gain access to the box and I will have you shot. Good evening."

He stalked away without looking back, leaving the Doctor and his party standing some way from the TARDIS and exchanging random glances. Finally, the Doctor settled his shoulders, cleared his throat, turned and subjected the guards to a pleasant smile before approaching them with his hands raised. Nevertheless, the men hefted their rifles meaningfully, and Amy shot out a hand and snagged her fingers in the sleeve of his jacket.

"Doctor, no," she hissed. "I think they're serious."

"We _have_ to get into the TARDIS," he said, quietly, from the corner of his mouth.

"At least let me try. They wouldn't shoot a woman, would they?"

"Wouldn't they?"

The two guards reacted as Amy stepped around the Doctor and walked over to them, but less so this time. Still, they seemed highly apprehensive, and at last, Amy noticed that one of the men was the young soldier from the truck, the one who'd seemed to be particularly on edge. For some reason, he removed his cap as she approached and held it front of his chest like a defensive shield of some kind, and his rifle rattled a little in his grasp. Taking pity on him, Amy smiled gently.

"What's your name?" she asked, keeping her tone light.

"Yehuda, miss," said the soldier, his eyes darting away momentarily.

"Yehuda," she said, gently. "It's really important that you let us in. Your boss doesn't understand what's going on." Risking a little physical contact to emphasise her words, she reached out and touched his wrist. "Please?"

"I have my orders. I'm sorry," he said, avoiding her gaze and stiffening his stance. Amy stepped back a pace, and as she did so, he refocused his rifle on her chest. "Now move away. All of you." She heard a click as his finger tightened on the trigger, and stumbled back into Rory's arms.

"Well, isn't this nice?" said Turlough scathingly, straightening his tie and curling his lip. "I don't suppose we have anything resembling a backup plan?"

Amy reacted slowly at first, turning her head and focusing on the young man, her brows lowering. Stepping out of Rory's embrace, she cocked her head and regarded Turlough intently. "Okay. Just what the hell are you doing here?" she asked, sharply. "This can't be a coincidence. If the Trickster's set all this up, then you're part of the plan, and I want to know what you're hiding."

"Amy..." said the Doctor, but she ignored him. Taking a step toward Turlough, she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him up against the battered brick wall behind him. He was slightly built and Amy's anger was firing on all cylinders now, and the result was very little contest. He squeaked faintly and tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but she merely tightened her fists and held on as if she were trying to land a particularly difficult salmon.

"Who are you, mister?" she demanded. "I don't trust you."

"I _do_, though," said the Doctor, appearing at her side and placing his hand on her shoulder. "Now let him go, please. If you ever believed me before, I'm asking you to believe me now. Turlough is not in league with the Trickster. You have my word on that."

"Mrs Pond," said Turlough, now he'd finally found his voice, which was shaking, "Please. I really don't know why I'm here. I don't even know this Trickster fellow."

Amy felt the Doctor's hand tighten on her shoulder, meaningfully, and she released a harsh breath and uncurled her fingers, releasing Turlough at last. As soon as she'd done so, he shuffled sideways out of her reach, his eyes wide and wary.

"I'm sorry," she said. She meant it, but found that her voice was nonetheless a trifle flat. "If the Doctor trusts you, then..." She tailed off, one hand waving vaguely and her cheeks colouring slightly, and shot Rory a glance before subsiding entirely; his expression, however, was complex and indecipherable.

"Good stuff, excellent, all sorted," said the Doctor, shoving his hands into his pockets and at once resuming his usual upbeat attitude as if nothing untoward had taken place. "Now, I think we're all agreed it's important that we get into the TARDIS and check the database for information about what's going to happen tomorrow morning. With that in mind, I suggest something in the way of a little diversion." He stopped abruptly and pursed his lips in thought before brightening. "Okay, I've got an idea. Amy, do you have your spare key?"

"Got it," she said, fishing the key from her pocket and holding it up for inspection.

The Doctor nodded approvingly. "Right-o. Assuming I can distract at least one of those guards, do you think you could deal with the other one?"

"Define 'distract' and 'deal with'," said Rory, frowning and stepping between the Doctor and Amy, his shoulders set. The Doctor reacted with some surprise at first, but then recovered and patted Rory's elbow fondly.

"Goodness, don't worry so much!" he said, pleasantly. "This should be easy peasy. Have I ever let you down before?"

Rory's face was an astonishing study in emotional turbulence for a second.

"No," he admitted. The Doctor merely beamed at this and then wandered away from his companions, poking his head around the corner of the building. When he turned back again, his expression was tinted with impish glee.

"Oh my," he said, rubbing his palms together briskly. "This is going to be _fun_."

* * *

><p>The soldiers standing guard over the TARDIS had watched the Doctor and the others conferring at the far side of the building with deep suspicion, but hadn't left their station. They gave one another a single puzzled look as the four wandered away, rounding the corner and disappearing from view altogether, but after a few minutes passed and they failed to reappear, the soldiers relaxed minutely and settled back into their customary stance.<p>

A few seconds later they both jumped like rabbits as General Dayan's prized chestnut mare thundered around the corner at full gallop, heading straight for the TARDIS, mane and tail flying, eyes rolling and kicking up streamers of dust beneath its hooves. Compared to this sight, the fact that the Doctor was astride the animal and trailing a barely intelligible battle cry of some sort was almost a minor detail, but they nonetheless cowered against the doors in anticipation of impact.

It never came. At the last possible second the Doctor dragged on the reins, turning the horse aside and pounding off into the gloom, still yelling at the top of his voice. The corporal recovered his rifle – he'd dropped it on his foot in momentary confusion and was now in a moderate amount of pain – and then barked an order at his subordinate to stay put. Narrowing his eyes, he skirted the TARDIS and hared off in pursuit of the animal's rapidly disappearing tail, screaming threats and imprecations.

Three more seconds passed, and Amy looked around the corner, pushed her hair out of her eyes and jogged over to the young soldier. He looked at her with a curious expression that seemed to her to be a mixture of ninety per cent defiance and ten per cent pleading, but maintained his grip on his rifle even if it was no longer pointing in her direction.

"Yehuda," she said, patiently, "I don't have time to argue with you, I'm afraid. And I'm _really_ sorry I have to do this," she added, speaking from the heart. Then without further ado, she clamped his head between her hands and kissed him firmly. He struggled for a second and then seemed to go limp in her grasp, for which she was grateful, because she could now hear a series of small sounds as Rory and Turlough crept past and quietly unlocked the door. She waited until she judged they were inside and then broke the kiss, looking into the young soldier's eyes at close range for a second.

"Like I said," she told him, slightly breathlessly, "I'm sorry." And with that, she darted through the door herself and slammed it in his face.

The door started to rattle on its hinges as she trotted up the ramp to join the two men at the console, catching her breath and moving to a station to search the archives on the nearest screen. Rory glanced up nervously.

"He can't get in, can he?"

"In here?" asked Amy. "Not a chance, but we'd better make this quick before the Doctor's caught. Do you know what you're doing over there?" she added, subjecting Turlough to a brief stare.

"I was travelling with the Doctor before you were born," he retorted absently, without looking up from what he was doing. "And I once flew the TARDIS all by myself, so yes," he finished, pausing just long enough to raise an eyebrow at her, "I do know what I'm doing, thank you very much."

Amy considered firing back, but then remembered her own injunction about the urgency of the task and bent her head once more. It could wait. Even so, with the entire database at her command and the others paying her no attention whatsoever for the moment, she found her fingers straying, and without any real, conscious instruction from her brain, she quickly keyed in a series of search instructions. The sheer size of the index alone defeated her for a moment, but she managed to narrow down her search and find the entry she was looking for, almost an afterthought of an entry contained in what seemed to be one of the Doctor's old journals.

As she ran her gaze down the screen, her eyes widened in horror.


	7. Chapter 7

The Doctor pulled so hard on the reins that the mare spun around on one hoof, snorting desperately, and then, faced with a sudden barrier, clumsily vaulted a stack of barrels with its passenger trailing a long, ululating yelp. Firing a quick glance back the way he'd come, he saw that the pursuit had picked up several more soldiers, all of whom were toting rifles and none of whom looked as if they were enjoying the chase nor would be overly inclined to be generous to their quarry once they caught him. Grinning like a cheese and adjusting an imaginary Stetson with a flick of his forefinger, the Doctor slammed his heels into the horse's flanks and took off again in a high-stepping canter, dodging several canvas-shrouded trucks and a tank before finding himself in an open space at the rear of the base.

The ground ahead was little more than tattered scrub, glazed by the light of a watery half-moon. Momentarily discomfited by what looked like an escape route far too good to be true, the Doctor reined in the horse and frowned briefly. It was in this pertinent pause that he heard the sound of a gun being cocked close behind him. His eyes swivelled first, followed by his head, and he finally swung around, twisting his spine, to look over the animal's rump.

"Get down," said the general, calmly. He raised the revolver to underscore his words, and took very careful aim at the Doctor's head.

"Right you are," said the Doctor, nodding. "Right. Er." He looked down at the stirrups, first one side and then the other. "I may need a bit of help here. Um. Always found it very easy to get on one of these things but never quite managed to work out how to get off again. Er."

After a while the general lowered his weapon, his face sliding into the bewildered expression common to those encountering a slightly scatterbrained Time Lord for the first time. He eventually holstered the revolver and propped his hands on his hips, watching the Doctor lift first one foot and then the other, trying to extract them from the stirrups with a noticeable lack of success while the mare belched beneath him and shifted placidly from hoof to hoof.

"Okay," muttered the Doctor, at last, having wriggled and jiggled one boot free from its stirrup with all the grace and elegance of a drunken swan on a skating rink. "One down, one to go." Evidently deciding to take the plunge, the Doctor swung his free leg over the saddle and hopped down off the animal's back. Unfortunately, this manoeuvre completely failed to free his other foot in the process, as a result of which he landed flat on his back in the dusty scrub with one leg at forty-five degrees and his boot still stuck.

This might not have been such a problem had it not been for the fact that the horse, having either exhausted its remarkably broad reserves of patience or spotted something to eat, ambled away, dragging the Doctor along behind it like a feebly protesting sack of potatoes. Shaking his head in disbelief and issuing a long-suffering sigh, the general set off after him and stepped in front of the mare to grab the reins and halt its progress. Only once he'd done so did he turn and stare down at the recumbent Doctor.

"Why?" he asked, after a few seconds' silent scrutiny. It was a small word that, nevertheless, somehow neatly encapsulated a world's worth of query.

The Doctor pasted on a bright little smile. "Well," he said, with a necessarily horizontal shrug, "you wouldn't listen to me, would you?"

"So you thought to escape by stealing my horse?" said the general. He sounded almost amused. The Doctor didn't respond at once, but instead struggled into a highly inelegant sitting position before folding himself in half and prying his boot out of the stirrup with a small grunt of effort, after which he hiked his knee up and started to rub his mildly twisted ankle.

"I wasn't trying to escape," he said, glancing up from this task. "I was, in point of fact, by way of being the diversionary part of the plan in this particular instance."

"I see," said the general, nodding slowly. "So your companions are – "

"Consulting the data banks in the TARDIS, just as I said," the Doctor finished for him. He stopped to stagger to his feet and make a spirited attempt to brush the dirt out of his jacket, which merely resulted in his enveloping the both of them in a blooming cloud of fine dust for a few seconds.

"Well," said the general, after clearing his throat several times, "if you were intent on causing a diversion, you succeeded." He nodded to where a dozen armed men stood, their guns aimed at the Doctor. The general simply waved a lazy, dismissive hand at them and they dispersed, though not without one or two puzzled backward glances.

"Didn't you say something about having me shot?" asked the Doctor, his eyes squirrel-bright. "You really don't strike me as the bluffing sort. No offence intended, of course."

"None taken," said the general, through half a smile, "if only because you are right. This is my first time."

"Well, it was a jolly good one. Ten out of ten," said the Doctor, with an encouraging nod.

The two walked back to the barracks in silence for a while, but as they passed through the narrow gap between two trucks, the general closed his hand on the Doctor's shoulder, stopped him in his tracks and swung him around. When he spoke, his voice was low and distinctly strained.

"Apologies do not come easily to me, Doctor," he said, after glancing both ways to make sure that they were not overheard, "so you'll understand that this is a rarity. I am sorry for threatening you. Understand that my primary concern is for the safety of my people and country. I felt that you were keeping back vital information to that end, and I reacted accordingly, but I also reacted in haste and I hope you'll forgive me."

"Apology accepted," said the Doctor, quietly, his eyes creasing with a kindly smile that didn't sit quite comfortably on his austere features. "I do understand your position, but I'm here to make sure that history proceeds the way it should, not the way you think it should. This concerns more than just one man, or even one country."

"So you won't tell me what's about to happen here?"

"No, I won't," said the Doctor, and turned away. He hadn't gone more than three paces when he turned back, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"Even if you're not bluffing," he added.

* * *

><p>"What's wrong?"<p>

Amy didn't realise she'd been staring in silent shock at the screen until Rory addressed her, and even then, she was slow to react. He was halfway around the console, his face set in concern, before she collected herself enough to jab at the buttons, clearing the display before he could catch a glimpse of it. She had no idea if he'd noticed, but he wasn't her primary concern. She cast a tiny glance at Turlough out of the corner of her eye, but he seemed fully absorbed in his own task and didn't even register her attention, as brief as it was. Sighing with minute relief, she grabbed Rory's wrist and drew him closer.

"I need to talk to you. Alone," she added, her voice reduced to a cross between a hiss and a mutter.

"Problem?"

"You could say that," she whispered, darkly. "Come on, we can talk in the corridor."

She'd no sooner started to usher Rory up the ramp, though, when there was a brisk, polite knock on the door. Gnawing her lip in frustration, she turned around and started back across the room, reaching the doors and laying a cautionary hand on the panelling.

"Who is it?" she called.

"The Tooth Fairy," said a badly tried voice. "Honestly, who do you _think_ it is?"

Amy pulled at the latch and drew the door open a few inches to see a narrow slice of the Doctor's face. She looked him up and down but didn't deign to open the door any further for the moment.

"Are you all right?" she asked, trying not to sound suspicious – because she wasn't – but falling quite some way short of her intentions. The tone crept into her voice without prompting.

"I'm fine," he said, delivering the words on the back of a long, drawn-out exhalation. "In case you'd forgotten, this is my TARDIS, so will you please open the door and let me in?"

"You're grumpy," said Amy.

"You were warned."

Lacking any further option, she drew the door back and stood aside as the Doctor sauntered up the ramp with General Dayan in his wake. In spite of the situation, she took a moment to amuse herself watching the man's reaction, which was as predictable as that of anyone else setting foot in the TARDIS for the first time, and generally involved a lot of jaw-flapping and turning around on the spot like a demented spinning top, normally followed by – yes, there it was – a brief foray back outside to walk around the perimeter of the box to check for hidden panels. The Doctor and his companions waited patiently for the general to return, and when he did, his complexion was drained.

"This is..." he said, waving an arm in the air for a moment, like half a windmill, before subsiding.

"My trusty craft," said the Doctor, clearly deriving just as much amusement as Amy from the general's amazement. "What do you think?"

"I..." said the general, but it seemed that for the time being he'd lost the ability to complete a coherent sentence. The Doctor watched him for a few seconds more, in case there was going to be anything else, and then gave in, taking a little pity on the man.

"Okay," he said, shaking his head with a tiny, faintly put-upon little smile surfacing on his lips and wandering back down the ramp to throw a companionable arm around the general's shoulders. "This is how it works. You see, the interior of the TARDIS exists in a state of dimensional..."

Amy tuned out at that point, having heard the speech before, and it was only then that her prior concerns came hurtling back to her at such speed that it made her feel slightly queasy to remember what she'd read. Turning on her heel, she clamped a hand on Rory's elbow and started to drag him toward the door at the rear of the console room.

"I still need to talk to you," she whispered, and the shoved him through the door before closing it firmly behind them. To be on the safe side, she pulled him a few yards further down the corridor before inserting him into a handy alcove and joining him there. Rory, clearly feeling that he'd been manhandled quite enough for one day, rubbed his arm and fixed her with a vaguely annoyed stare.

"Why all the secrecy?" he said.

Amy scowled. "Keep your voice down," she told him. "I have to talk to you because the Doctor's not himself, he's not thinking clearly and he has no idea how much danger he's in. He won't listen to me, but you and me, we have to do something."

"Danger?" said Rory. "Amy, please just spit it out, will you?"

"I went through the Doctor's old journals, and – "

"We were supposed to be looking for information on the war."

"Shut up!" snapped Amy. "I'm sorry, but shut up and listen to me. I found an old log entry from 1983. I know who he is now and I know why he's here."

"Who?"

"Turlough," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "He's here to kill the Doctor."


	8. Chapter 8

To give him due credit, General Dayan rallied nicely in the face of the Doctor's high-speed explanation of the multi-dimensional physics of the TARDIS, though his face was distinctly waxen by the time it was over.

"I don't understand you, Doctor," he said, when he'd managed to gather his wits.

"I get that a lot," said the Doctor, smugly, hooking his thumbs into his belt and smirking for a second. "But I'm curious: what don't you understand?"

"Well," said the general, waving an arm vaguely before continuing, "this ship. All your knowledge, and all your technology. You could be ruling the universe, yet you don't seem inclined to do anything but wander around picking up strays."

At this last word, the Doctor shot Turlough a quick glance, but the young man was preoccupied with one of the terminal displays, and didn't seem to be listening to the conversation going on just a few yards away. He eventually turned back with a tiny wrinkle in his brow.

"They're not strays, General," he said, smoothly and just a trifle coldly. "Everyone who's ever travelled with me had their reasons for doing so. I'm long past the point where I get curious about it, and I find it's better not to ask."

"And what are your reasons?"

The Doctor merely smiled. "As I say," he said, mildly, "it's better not to ask."

"Doctor," said Turlough, a note of concern in his voice. The Doctor swung around.

"Found something?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Turlough, uneasily. "We have four hours until –"

"Shh," said the Doctor, and turned back to the general, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry, General," he went on, smiling faintly. "Secret stuff again, I'm afraid. Stick your fingers in your ears and sing. Won't be a minute."

"I...what?" said the general, wavering between indignity and bafflement for a second.

"Fingers. Ears. Sing," repeated the Doctor, still smirking. The general, possibly only out of sheer confusion, complied as the Doctor sauntered over to the console and dropped a hand on Turlough's shoulder.

"So what've you got?" he asked, to the background of General Dayan's off-key warbling.

"The invasion begins in a little over four hours," said Turlough, flicking his gaze between the Doctor and the notes on the screen. "That's our deadline."

With the emphasis on 'dead', yes," said the Doctor, pursing his lips a little. "And it doesn't really help us locate the Trickster's victim, does it? Still, never mind," he added, brightly, slapping his palms together and rubbing them briskly for a moment. "Worth a try. Any other ideas?"

"Me?" said Turlough, suddenly looking cornered. "Why me?"

"You know why," said the Doctor, and he said it as kindly as he could, but the young man nevertheless cringed and hung his head.

"That's not fair," he mumbled.

"I'm afraid we don't have time to be fair," said the Doctor, evenly, taking him by the arm and squeezing gently. "Your past gives you an advantage here."

"It's not the same situation at all," said Turlough, his voice mixed with equal parts pleading and defiance, "and you don't have to remind me what I did. You think I'd forgotten?"

"You think you were the only person to try to betray me?" The Doctor shot back at once, and then smiled warmly. "Come on now, chin up, my lad. It's been a lot longer for me than it has for you and I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Now I think we should give the General a break. He looks like a vase, the poor man. Besides, I have a thought..."

The general jumped slightly when the Doctor wandered back to the foot of the ramp and tapped him on the arm to interrupt his rousing aria.

"I have a very important question," he said.

The General unplugged his ears and directed a deep scowl at him. "Oh? Finally I am of some use to you?" he asked, sharply.

"Now now, don't be like that," said the Doctor, pleasantly. "We're both on the same side here, remember? I need to know if there have been any little incidents around here lately. Someone around here is living on borrowed time. It will have been very recent, in the last few days at most. Can you think of anything?"

"Incidents?" echoed the general, in some disbelief. "Doctor, we have been at war for the last few days. We have had so many 'incidents', as you put it, that I have long since lost count, and every man on this base has put his life at risk more than once. How can I possibly tell you what you need to know?"

"Okay, that's not good," said the Doctor, ruefully. "Thank you for your help anyway, old chap. It looks as if we're going to have to do this the hard way." He broke off suddenly, and stared at the door for a second, tapping one long finger against his cheek, deep in thought. He stayed that way for quite some time, until the general eventually gave in and prodded him in the elbow.

"What's the hard way?" he asked. The Doctor reacted slowly, but when he returned his attention to the present, he looked vaguely conspiratorial.

"We start asking questions," he said, with a sly grin.

* * *

><p>"What <em>are<em> you talking about?"

Amy sighed, exasperated, and tried again.

"Turlough," she repeated, slowly. "He's under the control of someone the Doctor called the Black Guardian," – she waved a hand, vaguely and irritably – "and he's trying to kill the Doctor. Why aren't you listening to me?"

"I would if you'd just make sense," said Rory, taking her by the shoulders. "Didn't all of this happen almost thirty years ago?"

"Not for _him_," she insisted, jerking her head at the door to the console room, now growing anxious, not wanting to leave the Doctor in Turlough's company for a moment longer. "Look, if you don't believe me, I'll do something myself. Just stay out of my way, all right?"

Amy pushed herself away from the wall and strode back down the corridor with her spine ramrod straight, ignoring Rory's pained calls after her. She hated herself for being so confrontational with him, but that was a secondary consideration and she shoved it right to the back of her mind and pinned it there, then set her mental sights on the Doctor once more.

Pushing through the door to the console room, she had his name on her lips but it died away as she saw at once that the room was empty. She pulled up sharp and ran a hand through her hair in distraction, and it was in that brief moment of hesitancy that Rory caught her up and took her by the shoulder to turn her around.

"Amy, listen to me," he said, carefully, keeping her gaze even as she tried to avoid him and extract herself from his grasp. "The Doctor knows what he's doing."

"Not this time," she said, flatly, and finally twisted herself free, turning away once more before making for the door of the TARDIS in quick, lengthy strides. She didn't hear him following her, but it wouldn't have mattered if he had. Reaching up to snag the latch, she swung the door open and stepped out into the muzzle of a rifle. She reacted with shock, but it lasted only a few seconds, and by the time it faded her eyes were already narrowing dangerously.

"You again," she said, propping her hand on her hip, her mouth twisting.

"I'm sorry," said Yehuda, gripping his weapon tightly. "I'm ordered to keep you here."

"Right," said Amy, nodding slowly. "The problem is that you don't seem to be too good at your job, do you? You couldn't keep me out and you're not going to keep me in, either. I think we both know how this is going to end, because I scare you for some reason. Maybe we can talk about that later, but I'm too busy right now. So," she finished, drawing a deep breath, "why don't you just get out of my way and save us both a bit of time?"

"I'd do it if I were you," said Rory, appearing behind her shoulder and eyeballing the young soldier warily. "If I can't stop her, what makes you think _you_ can?"

Yehuda shuttled his gaze between the two of them for a few more seconds before lowering his weapon and taking two halting steps backward. Amy nodded curtly and stalked past him, making her way back to the barracks. Rory sighed heavily and shared a subtle look of fellow feeling with the private.

"If it helps, I'll tell everyone else I hit you," he said. "I mean, I did punch Hitler, after all."

"What?"

"Long story."

* * *

><p>Amy was lost. She'd checked the general's office and found it empty, but having done as much she was at something of a loss; with all its outbuildings taken into consideration, the base was quite a bit larger than it seemed, and she was reluctant to call out for fear of alerting any other soldiers to her presence. So she wandered, listening at doors and growing increasingly frantic. The base was in fact eerily quiet, and this was proving disturbing.<p>

She was following another corridor, considering heading outside again, when something stopped her in her tracks. Not a sight, not a sound, but a feeling. It crawled up her spine from the pit of her stomach and took up residence in her hindbrain, where it skulked like a scorpion under a stone. She had never felt more _watched_ in her entire life. She jerked her head around and looked back the way she'd come, but the whitewashed passage was brightly lit and quite empty. She swung back again, but there was nothing there. Even so, the chill in her mind persisted.

_Amy_.

"Who's there?" she demanded, but her voice quavered badly; she hadn't heard the word in her ears, but in her bones, and they ached. She flattened her back against the wall, trying to keep her attention on both ends of the corridor at once.

_Don't resist_.

"Shut up," she said, her lips trembling, wondering if madness was to blame for this. The voice in her head was soothing, however; high and sweet and as beguiling as a siren's song, and it compelled and commanded her. She felt her muscles unwind even in the face of her fear, and she sagged against the bricks as the strength drained from her legs and her eyelids fluttered closed.

"Don't listen to him," said Turlough, close to her ear, his voice tainted with low urgency. "I can hear him, too. Fight it."

Amy's eyes snapped open. She had been on the brink of surrendering to those plangent tones, but determination added a new spark to the fire that the voice had banked. She turned on the spot, snarling like a tigress, and closed one hand on the young man's lapel before fixing the other around his throat. Fighting every impulse to finish the job by throttling him, she stared him down at close range, her eyes alight.

"It's _you_," she said. "I don't care what the Doctor says, you're the one behind this. I know you tried to kill him once, but you're not going to get a second chance. I'll see you dead first. Don't think I don't mean it."

"Mrs Pond, please, you have to believe me..." he gasped, wriggling in her grip, but she wasn't about to let him go a second time. The voice in her head was back, but she couldn't hear what it was saying over the rush of blood in her veins and the incandescent fury in her heart.

Her fingers tightened, cutting off his words entirely.


	9. Chapter 9

The Doctor stepped around the corner and closed one hand on her wrist.

"Amy, let go," he said, with remarkable placidity. "I'll explain everything, but please stop this. Strangling someone isn't as easy as it looks, anyway. Come on," he said, coaxing her away from her task a millimetre at a time. Finally, she exhaled and uncurled her fingers from Turlough's throat and stepped back, watching him regain his colour by degrees. The Doctor, meanwhile, kept his hold on her arm and watched her carefully.

"So explain," she said, bluntly, glaring at him. Anything to keep her attention away from Turlough, though she could see him out of the corner of her eye as he straightened himself as best he could and then put another few feet of distance between them, rubbing at his bruised throat.

"I'm guessing that you found my diary in the TARDIS records," said the Doctor, with half a sad little smile. "Snooping isn't nice, Pond."

"Neither is attempted murder," she countered. "He tried to kill you."

"Don't you think I know that?" said the Doctor, finally releasing his grasp. "This is old news for me. It's been twenty-eight years, but my memory's still pretty sharp, particularly when it comes to attempts on my life, so please give me a little credit. I know how the story ends." He paused to direct a short glance over her shoulder at Turlough, who was lurking nervously in a nearby doorway, and then took a patient breath and returned his gaze to hers. "He's a good lad who was led astray, that's all. This is the Turlough I left on Sarn, and I'd trust him with my life, same as you."

"You swear?" she said, at last.

"Cross my hearts," said the Doctor, with a gentle laugh.

"The Trickster is here, Doctor," said Turlough, suddenly and softly, emerging from the doorway. "We both heard him." Any looked around at him and then back at the Doctor, nodding.

"He's in my head," she said. "I can still feel him."

"Then we don't have much time," said the Doctor, gravely. "If he's here it's because he wants to make sure things go according to plan. I don't know why he'd be bothering with either of you, though..." He tailed off, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "I didn't hear him myself. What's he playing at?"

Rory turned up at that point, staring around at the three of them in turn before opening his mouth.

"I heard a weird voice – " he began, but Amy cut him off.

"We know, it's all right," she said, soothingly, as he flapped his lips like a landed fish for a moment.

"So what do we do now?" asked Turlough.

"I think we wait," said the Doctor, and though he tried to inject a jovial note into his words, Amy could hear the helplessness underlying them, and it chilled her to her heart.

"You don't have a plan?" she asked.

"Not a smidgeon of a glimmer of a fraction of a plan, no," he said, with a one-sided shrug. "I'm out of options."

"You're _never_ out of options," she insisted.

The Doctor didn't reply at once, but merely gave her a very long, very sad, and infinitely affectionate look.

"I've still got your faith in me," he said, and the look in his eyes as he spoke almost broke her heart. She could see her Doctor looking out at her from a noble, grandfatherly face that suddenly seemed older than time itself, and which she knew was finally showing her a naked glimpse of the painfully lonely man underneath it all.

It was only General Dayan's arrival on the scene that broke this spell and, even then, only partially. He seemed to sense the difficult atmosphere in the corridor, and paused to subject it to a moment's silent examination before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was strained.

"Nothing," he said, sighing. "The men are far too frightened to remember anything. They are speaking of Samael and hearing voices, all of them."

"They have good reason to be frightened," said the Doctor, "and if the Trickster's playing mind games with everyone on the base but me, this may be more important than I thought. He doesn't normally show himself to anyone but his subject. Come on, back to the TARDIS. You too, General. I need time to think, and at least he can't get in there."

He squared his shoulders and started to walk away, but as Amy made to follow him he pulled up sharp and turned on his heel, brow creasing.

"It is _just_ me, isn't it?" he said, quietly, almost to himself, and then directed a penetrating stare at the general. "Are you hearing voices, too?"

"No," said the general. "Nothing of the kind, I assure you."

At first, the Doctor didn't react to this beyond a modest twitch of an eyebrow, but then he muttered briefly before slapping a hand to his forehead, his eyes widening.

"Come on, all of you," he called back over his shoulder; he was already running, heading for the main door. Amy was the first to react, but even so, he'd already rounded the corner ahead and was bursting out into the warm night air by the time she caught up with him. She heard the others in her wake, but didn't spare them a glance. She was too intent on the Doctor's sudden panic attack.

She chased him across the dusty ground towards the TARDIS, surprised that an old man could move so quickly, but then he suddenly seemed to be powered by a bottomless reserve of nervous energy. It was only when he was outside the door and trying the lock with shaking hands that she and the others caught him up at last.

"Doctor, what's the matter?" she panted, catching her breath.

"It's the General," he murmured, turning away from his efforts, his voice trembling. "He's the target. The TARDIS is the only safe place on the planet right now, we have to get him inside."

"But I don't understand," she said, "if he's the target, then who's the Trickster dealing with?"

"Me."

This hollow word, choked with dread, was accompanied by the soft click of a safety catch. Amy turned her head, slowly, and looked out into the darkness. A rangy figure stumbled into the low light cast from the TARDIS windows, but this was scarcely necessary. She knew that voice.

"I'm sorry," said Yehuda. "I'm so sorry." He raised his rifle and trained it on the general's head. "I have to do this. There was a sniper on the road to Nazareth, and I thought I was dead, but Samael promised to spare me in exchange for the Lieutenant General."

The Doctor stepped forward, moving away from the TARDIS and approaching the young soldier with his hands raised.

"Please listen to me," he said, softly. "He's not a demon and he won't spare your life. He doesn't have the power to do that. He lied to you." The Doctor cocked his head and waited.

Yehuda's throat worked for a second, and then his eyes flickered to and fro.

"He's behind me," he croaked. "He's right behind me."

"I know," said the Doctor. "Don't turn around. Don't look at him. Any of you," he added, raising his voice a little to address his companions. "Don't look and don't listen. He can't control you unless you let him in."

_You know nothing_.

"Oh, I think I know more than you, old chap," said the Doctor, serenely. "After all, you brought Turlough here to kill me, which was a shocking display of ignorance from the start. Really? That was your best shot? I mean, come along. He was never a killer, and you chose the wrong time period anyway. The fact that you thought for one single, solitary second that you could turn my friends against me shows just how big of an idiot you really are. You, my friend, are small-minded, short-sighted and really rather dull."

_Stand aside._

"Doctor..." said Yehuda, his voice weak and broken. "Stand aside, please."

_I don't have a choice._

"I have no choice."

"That's not true," said the Doctor, still keeping his gaze locked with the young soldier's. "Nothing can take that away from you. You've been used, but the decision is still yours. If you do this, it's all over, believe me. Not just for us, but for everyone. Do you have a family?"

"My mother," said Yehuda, faintly. "Three sisters. And my wife," he said, and now his voice began to crack in earnest, developing a raw, painful edge. "She's pregnant. I don't want to die."

The Doctor took one more step forward and held out his hand.

"Nuclear war," he said, softly. "Everyone you've ever loved will die, Yehuda. That's the Trickster's bargain for you. He wants pain and misery and chaos; he thrives on it. Yours and everyone else's. Please give me the gun. Don't do this."

Amy was rooted in place, a single, painful breath caught in her chest, but she was preparing to speak when Turlough stepped past her and took up station at the Doctor's side.

"Listen to him," he said. "I've been where you are. I once made a pact with evil because I was weak and frightened. The Trickster's not your friend."

_Kill him._

_Kill them all._

"No," said Yehuda, and though his face was now streaked with tears and his hands were shaking, he lowered the rifle. "I won't do it."

_Then...die._

Amy moved at once as the young soldier crumpled to the ground, his rifle clattering from his hand. Darting past the Doctor, catching him in her arms, she dropped to her knees and cradled his head carefully. She couldn't think what to say, so she simply laid one hand on his cheek as a ripe red bloom began to spread on the front of his tunic, staining the khaki and flowing over his ribs.

"I did the right thing?" he asked her, very faintly.

"Yes," she said, stroking his face. "You did. Everything's going to be all right."

She felt the life leave him a few seconds later, just as she was preparing some final words of comfort. He slipped away so quietly and quickly that at first she wasn't sure, but when she reached for the pulse in Yehuda's throat, she caught the last faint beats, and then these died away beneath her searching fingertips. When she looked back at his eyes, they were already glazing, so she closed them, and laid his head on the ground as gently as she could before stumbling to her feet and, only now, turning around to face the hooded creature.

"You've lost," she said, staring him down. She watched the gaping, saw-toothed mouth move into something resembling a smile at her words.

_For now_.

"Now is all we've got," said Amy, with a shrug, suddenly feeling immensely tired and sick.

_I will see you again, child._

"Not if I see you first," said Amy, coldly. "Now go away."

Next second, she blinked, and then blinked again for good measure and finally shook her head. The Trickster had vanished entirely without ceremony, and with him he took the unpleasant little twist of doubt and fear that he'd planted in her brain. That freedom was so refreshing and so unexpected that she staggered for a second, and didn't recover until the Doctor slipped an arm around her shoulders to steady her. She looked around into his face and broke into a smile at once.

"You're back," she said, reaching up to ruffle his soft brown hair.

"Good as new," he said, pulling her into a hug.


	10. Chapter 10

In the end, the Doctor decided to make a quiet exit. Leaving the general with a nod and a handshake, he shepherded his companions back to the TARDIS and closed the door behind him with a distinct sigh of relief before taking up station at the controls and starting the engine without a word.

Amy watched him carefully as his hands darted over the switches. There was something about the set of his features that spoke strongly of business as yet unfinished, but at the same time, some sixth sense told her it would be futile to ask, so she merely stood back against the railing with Rory at her side and kept her peace. When they landed, she opened her mouth, but shut it again just as quickly as he gave her a very meaningful glance before turning to Turlough.

"This is where we leave you, I'm afraid," he said, a trifle sadly. "It's been good to see you again. Can I have a word before you go, though?"

Amy watched the Doctor and Turlough walk down the ramp and pause inside the doors in close conversation, then quite deliberately turned her attention away from the pair of them, feeling she'd done more than enough prying into the Doctor's affairs.

"You did well today," said the Doctor, with a smile, keeping his voice low and leaning his shoulder against the door. Turlough, in response, merely shrugged slightly.

"I only told the truth," he said, and then paused, biting his lip for a second, caught in the throes of a very difficult question indeed. "Doctor, I have to know. What's going to happen on the _Buccaneer_?"

"Spoilers," said the Doctor, cheerfully. "Sorry about that."

"But I don't understand," said Turlough, a little plaintively now. "Why did you trust me if I couldn't answer your question?" He stopped and shot a glance at the Ponds, on the far side of the console room. "And why did you tell me to lie to your friends?"

"This was between me and you, that's why," said the Doctor. "It was nothing to do with Amy or Rory. As to your first question, I had my reasons for trusting you. Two reasons, in fact. First of all, I knew you were basically a decent sort. I knew that from the start. You just needed a friend, that's all. Second, well...take a look in your pocket."

"What? I don't – "

"Go on, just take a look," said the Doctor, with a tiny twinkle in his eye. Turlough frowned a little deeper still, but fished in his inside pocket and pulled out the crystal the Black Guardian had given him. He turned it around and around in his fingers, studying it closely. The crystal was clouded, and dull, and quite dead inside. When he looked back up again, the Doctor was smiling at him.

"See?" he said. "He couldn't reach you in this timeline. You're a free man."

Turlough pocketed the crystal once more, but then froze as a thought struck him.

"But once you take me back..." he said, and then trailed off in abject despair. The Doctor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I know," he said, "and I'm really sorry. If it's any consolation, it's not for much longer. You'll make the right choice when the time comes."

"Will I?"

"Yes," said the Doctor, simply, opening the door and leading him out into a gloomy grey corridor. Here and there, the walls and doors were painted with gaunt, grinning skulls. "The Terminus ship," he said, glancing around. "Your stop, I believe?"

"For my sins, yes," said Turlough, and then returned his attention to the Doctor. "I won't forget you," he said, earnestly. "I really won't."

"Ah," said the Doctor, running a hand through his hair and grinning awkwardly. "Actually, you will. Once I leave, the paradox loop will be closed and all your memories will snap back into place."

"Paradox loop?" asked Turlough, his brow creasing.

"I thought you understood," said the Doctor. "The TARDIS landed in 1948 to rescue _you_. She does that. She's very protective."

"But I thought you said the Trickster only took me there in order to kill you?"

"And therein lies the paradox," said the Doctor. "No cause and no effect, just a lot of wibbly-wobbly and, dare I say it, timey-wimey stuff. Dear me, Turlough, I think you'd better get used to this sort of thing if you're going to be hanging around with me. Well, with the old me. Well, with us. Whatever." He flapped a hand, and was about to continue when he heard a distant voice calling Turlough's name. The voice was female, sharp and clear, and carried a distinct Australian lilt, and the Doctor brightened at once.

"Tegan! Goodness, it's been such a long time, maybe I should go and...no." He smacked his head. "Silly idea. She'd only get confused and start shouting at me, anyway. Best if you trot along too, my old friend," he said, sticking out his hand. Turlough smiled haltingly and shook it.

"I shall miss you," he said, quietly.

"You'll see me again in a few minutes," the Doctor pointed out.

"Even so," said Turlough, and the Doctor nodded in sober understanding before returning to the TARDIS and closing the door behind him, very slowly.

Amy looked over at him as he did so, her face set in concern. The Doctor trudged up the ramp with his shoulders at a slope, and didn't return her gaze until he reached the top, at which point he simply offered her a fond look before starting the engines once more.

"Are you all right?" she asked, as they took off.

"Me? I'm always all right," he said, without looking up again immediately, but she was relieved to see a smile spreading on his face after a while. "Anyway, where to now?" he asked, addressing her brightly. She glanced around at Rory, and they shared a thought.

"Surprise us," she said.


End file.
